


Patience is a Virture

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma misreads Tarn's mood, and says something he shouldn't while expressing his boredom for having been made to sit around. Tarn appropriately loses his temper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience is a Virture

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr Request. Wanted to write Tarn roughing up Pharma, and get it out of my system...

Most mechs paced when they were angry. Pharma rolled a T-Cog under his palm on the table, sitting in bored fashion as the tyrant fumed. Tarn turned pacing into quite the dramatic display.

Step. Transform. Roll. Transform. Step. Turn. Step. Frustrated growl. Transform. Roll. Transform. Step. Turn. Step. Transform. Roll. Step. Transform—and so forth.

Pharma could hear the whining T-Cog under his plating as loud as if it were a miner trapped under debris after a Decepticon attack. It suited the rest of him. Tarn’s transformations were the opposite of his elegant personality; they fit his appearance. Loud, screeching, and intimidating. Pharma flipped the T-Cog to the back of his hand, and rolled it back under. Though, after the sixth time seeing it, it was merely grating on the good old audio input.

"I admire your dedication to utterly destroying your T-Cog before swapping it out for a fresh one," Pharma said, tapping his fingers along the silver sphere on the table. "I do, Tarn. But could you at least make sure to do it before I arrive for surgery?"

Tarn’s Tank Alt-Mode halted mid-roll, and it stilled there. Pharma’s fingers stopped, and he held still. Tarn transformed again, slow and steady. Each foot hit the ground with a heavy thump, and his hands clenched into fists as he straightened. The monster of the DJD, equal of the Six-Phaser’s turned in his direction: Optics blazing. Every system in Pharma’s body locked up.

Perhaps Ratchet had been right. Pharma truly was awful at picking up on emotional cues.

"Ah, yes. You’re always in such a hurry, aren’t you?" Tarn said, slamming his hand on the table. He loomed over Pharma, vents heavy. "The skilled doctor of Delphi, ever in such high demand."

"Come now," Pharma said, cupping the replacement part between his hands. He rubbed his thumb alongside the port of the T-Cog, and counted to ten in his head to calm himself. He checked his med kit on the table for something he could grab if he needed it. "It was just a little joke. I wanted to lighten the mood a bit. You seemed so tense."

"No, I do not think that it was," Tarn said. His fingers curled in on the table, the scraping noise echoing in the back room of his Peaceful Tyranny. "You were expressing your boredom. ‘How dare I make the great, Doctor Pharma wait?’ is what you were thinking."

"Nonsense," Pharma said. He clutched at the T-Cog in his hand. "I only—"

Tarn slapped his hand over Pharma’s mouth, digging his thumb into the cheek. The rest of his fingers curled around the side of Pharma’s helm, smothering his mouth with the inside of Tarn’s palm. Panic surged Pharma’s systems, and he jerked back on instinct. Tarn, hardly amused, yanked up. He slammed Pharma down on the top of the table, brute strength ever his ally.

"I do have to wonder," Tarn whispered, pressing Pharma’s face into the table. He could hear his paint scraping off his helm louder than the screech of metal to metal. Tarn’s hand settled near Pharma’s waist. "Just how good you are."

"Tarn," Pharma said through gritted teeth. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? Why? Pharma scraped his hands against the tabletop, to scramble away, but Tarn leaned on his back. Pinned to the table, Pharma whined. "S-stop!"

"If you weren’t lying earlier, than it was your desire to lighten the mood. Was it not?" Tarn whispered. He dug his thumb under the plating at Pharma’s waist, and pushed out. Pharma gasped as the sensitive connections were pulled apart with the bending plates. Tarn abandoned his head, to use both hands to tug at Pharma’s side. "Since your attempt at wordplay failed, perhaps you should entertain me in some other way."

"Of course!" Pharma put his hand over Tarn’s, pulling at the exploring fingers. If he kept that up, he’d rip the entire thing off! Pharma growled, and tried to squirm around under Tarn’s grip. "You can stop that! I can open that panel myself!"

"Panel? You seem to have misunderstood, Pharma," Tarn said. Pharma’s optics widened as, Tarn’s fingers curled under the plating. He gripped tightly and pressed his other hand into Pharma’s side to hold it down. "I can have you squirming in my berth any time. I want to be impressed and in awe of my dear Doctor’s livelihood."

"Tarn!" Pharma shouted. "Don’t—"

Tarn ripped off the plating in a single sweep, with a spray of pink energon and a static-laced scream from Pharma’s vocalizer. Pharma curled on his side, grabbing the table. His vents surged, and warning signals flew to every internal relay and system. Tarn’s fingers weren’t done, and Pharma could feel it, when the fat digits curled around a familiar round part—and plucked it out as easily as Vos ripped out optics.

"What could be more entertaining than watching a doctor fix himself?" Tarn chuckled, dropping the T-Cog on the table near Pharma’s head. It hit with a clank, and rolled to the edge. "I’ll even let you use the new one you brought. After all, mine isn’t ‘utterly destroyed’ yet, is it?"

Pharma trembled on the table, feeling the sting of the energon seeping against his outer plating and trying to silence the system warnings that he bloody well knew about! Pharma smashed his forehead into the table and concentrated on anything other than the pain, and the sparking broken connections that used to be his waist. This was agony. Absolute agony.

And Tarn was known for doing far worse.

"You know what the worst of it all is?" Tarn said, venting heavily. He pulled a chair over, and sat down. He leaned on the table, and turned Pharma’s head toward him with energon stained fingers. The loose bits of it dripped down Pharma’s chin, and under his chest plating. "I was looking forward to your visit. It’s been a frustrating day, and I was hoping to unwind."

Pharma clenched his teeth together, as his hands groped for his toolkit. He had to stop the energon leak, and fix the shattered piping before he could even think of the T-Cog. It was rather difficult when he couldn’t see what he was doing, his face fixed on Tarn’s mask.

"I do so enjoy your visits," Tarn said, rubbing under Pharma’s chin. He threw his free hand in the air, careless of Pharma’s struggle to patch his insides. The flowing energon reached the edge of the table, and cascaded down on Tarn’s thigh. "There’s something nice about you and I releasing all that frustration together over drinks. You moaning under me. The connection. It’s all so pleasant."

Pharma grunted, touching his fingers to what he thought was the source. He hoped what he’d grabbed from the case was patching tape.

"But then you open this," Tarn squeezed Pharma’s cheeks, "and the insults begin. My patience for it is wearing thin."

"Worn thin," Pharma said, unable to help himself. He slathered a handful of energon over Tarn’s fingers before going back to his repairs. "I do believe you lost it just a moment ago."

"Fix yourself up," Tarn said, a growl under his voice. He stood, flicking drops of Pharma’s energon across his own face. He rubbed the slick energon between his fingers, and glanced at the stain on his legs. Tarn snorted, "As soon as I clean this filth off, I plan to have you entertain me in the more traditional sense. You had best be up for it, Pharma. I’d hate to be disappointed again tonight, especially after today."

Pharma growled, but remained silent.

"Good."

Pharma rolled to all fours, looking down to see the damage when Tarn disappeared to the back of the room and to his wash racks. His waist was a mess, a wreck of damaged parts from clumsy hands. He needed to fix this. Pharma couldn’t fly home without his T-Cog and he refused to ask Tarn and his flunkies for a ride. He could fix it. Pharma was better. He was the better Doctor.

"Now where is that new T-Cog…" Pharma wheezed, groping against the table top. "It should be here somewhere."

It was on the floor. Pharma leaned over the edge of the table, and he saw it. A small trail of pink followed behind it as it had rolled, and it now rested nearly against the far wall. Pharma dropped his head to the table and laid there.

"Frag me," Pharma said, staring at his energon soaked hand. He dropped it to the table with a tiny splash, and rolled on his back. Pharma covered his optics and ignored the burning when his life-blood seeped into the tiny openings between the plating.

He’d make Tarn pick it up.


End file.
